


Time To Come Home

by BuckyAboveEverything



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Christmas, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyAboveEverything/pseuds/BuckyAboveEverything
Summary: Five times Steve and Bucky said ‘Merry Christmas', one time they kissed and one time they said ‘I love you’.Follow our boys as they spend five Christmases pining before finally getting it.Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending. Covers events from CATFA and CATWS. Accompanying art in Chapter 2.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 23
Kudos: 159
Collections: Stucky Secret Santa 2019





	1. Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyricayed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricayed/gifts).



> Hi! This story follows our boys as they celebrate seven Christmases over the years. It covers the events of The First Avenger and The Winter Soldier.  
> 

**(1) Rockaway Beach, Queens. 1942**

“And there he was, swollen eye and split lip, holding off the brute with the lid of a trash can, yelling that he could fight him all day,” Bucky said, his eyes bright and smile proud. 

“A hero,” the girls chimed.

The fair was in full swing, and Bucky was overflowing with the Christmas spirit, treating their little barbershop quartet to hotdogs and all the drinks they could want. He'd been telling tall stories, sharing the good stuff, about the day they met.

"The best part was,” Bucky continued, after a sip of mulled wine. “After the coward fled, tail between his legs, I asked our friend if _he_ had a problem with running. And you know what he said?”

“What?” the girls asked, hanging on to every one of his warm, honeyed words.

“Said he didn’t like bullies. And if he ran, they’d never let him stop. So, was gonna plant himself like a tree and make them. Since then, there hasn’t been an alley in Brooklyn, where Steve hasn't stood up to the powers of evil, and won.”

“You would know,” Steve said, unable to resist cutting in. "You were there," he added, pointedly.

“Yeah, fine. Sometimes, he had a little help. Everyone could always use a partner. And Steve deserves the best. Someday, I'd love to see him settle down with someone special, to keep him busy and out of trouble."

“It’s fine, Buck,” he mumbled, well aware that no one was going to take an interest in him, a consolation prize to the trophy that Bucky was. “Dames don't dance with guys they can step on,” he said.

Bettie, who by then was looking at him differently, flashed him a sweet smile. “I’ll dance,” she said, pulling him to his feet to stand, corrected. Steve shot a quick glance at Bucky, who only smiled and winked. So, he left with Bettie for the dance floor, doing his best not to step on her toes.

He had a nice time, and Bettie was a fine dancer. But, she wasn’t the right one. It was neither her nor Dot nor any of the three-and-a-half million women who resided in New York. Because he’d already found his, when he was four, in a Brooklyn back alley.

Bucky was tipsy by the time they left the bar, so Steve steered the group toward the train station. Alas, he was too late. Bucky had seen the ring toss booth and the giant teddy bears on display. They exchanged a look. 

"You really gonna do this again?" Steve asked, resigned when he saw the look of determination in Bucky's eyes. 

Bucky shrugged and flashed a grin. "Well, it's a fair. I'm gonna try my luck."

At least the stall was having a Christmas special- five rings for a nickel, instead of the usual three. If Bucky played as well as he previously did, he could win the stuffed bears on the last dime to his name.

Bucky spent that dime in his wallet, and the three dollars in Steve’s before succeeding in his mission, to the delight of their friends. 

As one of the booth's loyal patrons, Bucky was asked to choose a Christmas gift himself - a souvenir from a collection of consolation prizes. So, while the girls compared the fluffiness of their teddies, Bucky stuck his hand inside a bag of baubles, taking his time to find the one. 

"For you, pal," he said, casually wrapping Steve's bony fingers around it before he could have a look. “Merry Christmas,” he added, before disappearing to look for their friends.

The scent of wine lingered, going straight to Steve’s head because he felt flushed and more than a little light-headed. He opened his fingers to see a pendant watch, a popular gift at the time from young suitors to their sweethearts. It was still warm from Bucky’s touch and he felt the heat spreading from his fingers to the rest of his body.

  
  
There was no illusion of it being new, not with its tarnished edges or scratches on the front. It was clearly a second-hand item whose second hand didn’t tick. Objectively, it was neither beautiful nor practical. 

  
  
There was nothing in the world that Steve could love more. 

***

**(2) Whip and Fiddle Pub, London, 1943**

“Another round,” Steve said, to the barkeeper, opening a tab at Dugan’s request.

Enviously, he watched his new team throw the drinks back. He hadn't been much of a drinker, not with his list of health problems. And now that the serum flowed in his veins, drinks just didn’t do anything for him anymore.

For the longest time, he’d dreamed of this day - being overseas and fighting for his country. And it was an honour putting together an elite team to combat HYDRA. Too bad his chosen second-in-command- his pal, his buddy, his Bucky, didn’t want to be a part of it.

Since their return from Austria, Bucky had barely spoken to him, leaving the moment he entered a room. “You know,” Steve said, when he’d finally cornered Bucky, in his officer's quarters, earlier that day. “I thought you’d be happier to see me here.”

Bucky faced him squarely, as if to welcome the imminent confrontation. “Yeah?” he returned. “Was expecting someone smaller.”

“Is this about me joining the army? Or the serum? Because I feel great. And you should be happy, you know? Now you won’t have to worry about me dying in my sleep.”

"No, I won't," he agreed. "I’ll _only_ have to worry about you being shot, captured or experimented on. Oh wait, but you’ve already done that,” he launched, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What did you expect me to do?” he asked, quietly. “Stay home and wait for you?”

“Yes!” Bucky hissed, holding his shoulders to make a point. “Because this isn’t a back alley, Steve. This is war!”

Steve shrugged his hands off. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I can take care of myself,” he sniped.

“The hell you can,” Bucky said, stepping back briefly to give him a last look, before storming out of his room and slamming the door. 

Steve had flung the chain at the door, where it bounced off with a loud clang. It left a dent, one that Steve could feel even as it rested against his chest, under his uniform. 

He’d been wearing it the whole time. It was a well-kept secret, the metal against his skin an intimate reminder that he had someone, belonged to someone. From it, he drew the courage to jump off Stark's plane, rescue Bucky and the rest of the 107th. And like an amulet, it had kept him safe. 

If only it could also make his wishes come true.

Looking up, he spotted a familiar head of brown hair. Like him, Bucky was alone, looking almost as miserable as he felt. They'd celebrated every Christmas together, and Steve had gone through so much not to miss this one. So, by midnight, Steve was ready to make up.

But Bucky beat him to it.

“I was being a jerk. And I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it. It’s just- Going home to see you again. That was the dream. But now, you’re here and I know you’ll keep going till every last base is gone. This is war, Steve. It changes people. What if we get lost out here and never go back?”

“I know, Buck. I’m scared too. You think I’m not? You’re always telling the dames how brave I am, but guess what? I’m not half as brave without you. Brooklyn? Our little room in that old townhouse? Just hasn't been home. Not since the day you left.”

Bucky put a hand over his. “Then, make me a promise. We fight this war. And you’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive. Then, we go home. Because that’s what all this is about. We're fighting for a place to go back to. But if either of us dies, then nothing matters any more. Nothing is ever going to matter again.”

“I promise,” he said, as solemnly as he could. “We’ll win this war and go home. Together.”

“Good. Because you know I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Under the soft glow of the candles, Bucky looked so sincere saying the words, a vow they’d repeated over the years, that Steve wanted to kiss him. Or ask him to dance. It wouldn't have been their first time. They’d done it before, dancing to the music on their beat-up turntable, as they fooled around in their room.

He hesitated too long and the moment slipped away. 

Peggy waltzed into the room in a stunning red number and the mood changed. Watching Bucky flirting with her was a sobering reminder that no matter how sincerely they swore to stick together, Bucky would one day make the same promise to someone else.

It didn’t matter how well he knew the songs or how fast he could run his bow across the strings. Steve would one day play second fiddle to the new person in his life.

It was clear, at least, that that person wasn’t Peggy, because she was unfazed by his charms. Steve even wondered if his friend had lost his magic, as Peggy had unbelievably snubbed the dashing bachelor when he asked her to dance.

Peggy was, objectively speaking, a very attractive woman, but Bucky had only known her for a few minutes. Why was he so affected by her rejection, his eyes full of hurt as they shifted from him to Peggy and back to him again, as though grieving some great loss?

“Don’t take it so hard. Maybe she’s got a friend,” Steve said when Peggy left, reminding him that there had to be someone else for him, the right partner. He slipped the item into Bucky’s roughened hands, the same hands that defended him with calm ruthlessness, be it against a schoolyard bully or a gunman in the field. “Merry Christmas, Bucky,” he said.

He didn’t know what he was thinking, giving Bucky something so personal – Joseph Rogers’ compass from his time in the 107th. It was one of few things he had of his father, but he wanted Bucky to have it. He thought of the two ends of the needle, circling the compass while firmly anchored in the middle to its home. 

And as he looked at the small smile on Bucky’s face, he made a wish. That wherever the war would take them, love would lead them home.

***

**(3) Smithsonian Museum, Washington D.C. 2014**

Steve adjusted his cap and glasses, doing his best to avoid being recognised. With SHIELD gone, there just wasn't a reason for him to stay in DC. So, he'dd come to say goodbye.

He’d picked the right day. Most people were celebrating the occasion at home with family and friends. He was doing the same, because the museum, which housed the images and voices of his old family, was home to him.

Standing in front of the Sergeant Barnes' display, Steve ran his fingers over his jacket, remembering how Bucky had been wearing the same outfit, when he fell from the train and disappeared from his life. The old Bucky was gone, but right before Steve had fallen from the helicarrier, he'd seen how some of the light had returned to those cerulean eyes. Somewhere under that façade, his friend lived. 

Where could he be?

It was the question on everyone’s lips. The SHIELD-HYDRA debacle had sparked a renewed interest in Sergeant Barnes, and a new display was created to showcase the items found in Bucky’s footlocker. It was the first thing that Steve noticed, standing out amongst his family photographs and letters.

Seeing the compass in that glass case confirmed his belief – that Bucky had never used it, choosing to keep the compass at the base, with the rest of his stuff. When no one appeared to be looking, he picked the lock and took back what had once been his. It was unmistakably the right one -Scratches down the front lid, the tight hinge that seemed to have got impossibly tighter, so much so that Steve couldn’t open it, no matter what he did. He had to figure it out out some other time.

Right then, he had to leave.

Preoccupied with getting away, Steve didn’t notice a pair of watchful eyes following him. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going, bumping into a tall man wearing a ball cap. “I'm sorry. I wasn’t looking,” the man said, in an accent Steve had dearly missed.

He was surprised to hear the Brooklyn accent, which he'd long thought had disappeared with globalisation. “Yeah. My fault,” Steve replied, hurriedly, adjusting his ball cap to cover his face. “Merry Christmas,” he added, somewhat impulsively, unable to ignore the inexplicable connection with the other man.

Footsteps stilled as the stranger hesitated. “Yeah. Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, in a voice so warm, Steve felt like he'd been given a hug. He kept the smile on his face the whole walk back to his apartment. It was only there that Steve realised the compass was gone.

Maybe someone else would need it more than him. It was true. He wasn't lost, just hoping to find someone. Still, he didn't need a compass in this century, not with the advanced navigation systems available. So, he took it in his stride. 

Leaving DC, Steve began a hunt, chasing down every lead in Nat’s brief, a quest that took him all over the world, from mountain towns in Siberia to bustling cities in Peru. But each lead brought him to a dead end. Often, Steve would arrive at a base, hoping to find clues, if not the Winter Soldier. More often than not, he only found HYDRA - dead.

The Winter Soldier was settling his own scores. And if he wasn't ready to be found, Steve would give him all the time he needed. 

That didn't mean that Steve didn't miss him. He missed him all the time, but most acutely at six in the evening. Steve would gaze at the picture inside – a yellowed picture of Sergeant Barnes in military regalia. In the letter that came with it, Bucky had written about his promotion and the raise, how they would have a better life, nicer things, when he returned-

_Home._

It hurt to even think about the word. And the promise they'd made all those years ago. But when they'd had a home together, Steve had waited each evening, for the door to burst open and Bucky to shout _I'm home_ from the bottom of the stairs. He blinked back the tears to gaze at the timepiece. It was six o’clock, according to the watch. But it was only right twice a day.

He wondered if Tony, with his brilliant mind and dexterous hands, could repair the watch. The inventor was a busy man, but he always made time for his friends. Steve was going to tell him about the Winter Soldier, because friends deserved the truth. And if he gave Tony time, he would one day come around. He might even take a look at his watch, give that old thing the second life it deserved.

Like Bucky did.

***

**(4) Brooklyn Heights, New York. 2015**

Steve was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Icy water flooded into his body, through his mouth, his nose, his ears, before it froze, squeezing the air from his body and sleep from his eyes. Then, just as quickly as he'd crashed, he woke, his senses dialled up to eleven, as he sat up in bed. His body was bathed in a cold sweat, the new sheets tangled around his legs.

There was a sound outside. Perhaps just a foraging racoon. 

He turned on the bedside lamp, trying to find his bearings. He was home, in the old townhouse he'd bought with seventy years of backpay with interest. It was 12 AM, on a Christmas morning. 

So, why the hell wasn’t he sleeping in heavenly peace? 

Steve inhaled, giving his starving cells the oxygen they craved. He took a deep breath. And another. He felt like he was sixteen again, holding on for dear life in the middle of an attack. But this was far worse. Because back then, he had Bucky to squeeze his hand and pat his back and remind him over and over, to _breathe, breathe, just, goddamnit Stevie, breathe_.

He fumbled for the accessory, feeling strength spread from his closed fist to the rest of his body. It was just enough for him to regulate his breathing. He closed his eyes and lay still, waiting for his lungs, his heart, his stomach to settle, all the while holding on to the chain of the timepiece, like a lifeline. 

In the quiet of the night, he heard it again. It sounded closer now. Someone _was_ at his front door.

He grabbed the shield from beside him on the bed and tiptoed down the stairs, making sure to skip the ones that creaked. He placed his hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath before it opened. Then, he felt it.

Something cold and hard pressed to the side of his head.

Steve didn't move. He didn't have to. Only one person could pull out a firearm or a knife or any weapon _that_ quickly. “Bucky?” he said, just as he’d done on the bridge. But this time he was sure.

He didn't know if the other man recognised the name, or identified with it. He did, however, lower the firearm. 

Steve had always thought Christmas to be a day of miracles. It was a day, after all, to celebrate an extraordinary birth. It was also a day of reunions, gifts and warm food on the table. Still, his mouth fell open when he turned and saw Bucky on his doorstep, looking like the saviour himself.

“Do you know me?” Steve asked, trying to decide which Bucky he was speaking to. 

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

"Yeah," he confirmed, offering him a small nod and a smile. 

"Why didn’t you fight me?” Bucky asked, and Steve could have laughed. _Bucky Barnes asking Steve Rogers why he wouldn't fight_. Never thought he'd live to see the day.

“You’re my friend,” Steve answered.

“I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t,” Steve assured him.

At that, Bucky let out a snort.

"They're all gone then?" Steve asked, knowing that Bucky wouldn't have stopped unless all of HYDRA was killed or destroyed. 

He shrugged. "I went to every address I remembered. And this was the last." 

Steve frowned. "You thought this was a base?" 

"I didn't know what I'd find. Memory is sketchy. I just remember bits and pieces, without any context." 

"This was your home,” he explained, watching Bucky closely as he stepped aside to let him through. “You can stay here. You’ll be safe.”

“Security is shit,” Bucky informed him, showing how easily one could unlock the door from the outside.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But there are two of us now.” 

Bucky moved about the home, testing latches and locks, sweeping it for bugs. Finally satisfied with his results, he took a seat at the table that Clint had made from the lumber in his yard. 

“You hungry?” Steve finally asked, trying to break the ice.

Bucky swallowed. “No,” he said.

"Okay," Steve said, opening the self-stocking refrigerator from Tony, where he found a cut of cold ham and a loaf of rye. He also made hot chocolate, thick and creamy, just the way Bucky had liked it.

It was a sip of the hot drink that appeared to melt away some of Bucky’s inhibitions. It wasn't long before he began to warm up and eat. For a long time, Steve was content to watch in silence, taking in the sight before him, his heart aching when he noticed the dark circles under his friend's eyes and how much weight he'd lost. 

“You doing all right?” he finally asked, as Bucky bit down on the last sandwich.

Bucky sniffed his underarms and wrinkled his nose. “Could use a shower,” he admitted.

***

In the bathroom, Steve filled the vintage clawfoot tub, a housewarming gift from Nat, with the modern luxury that was heated water. Just for the fun of it, he threw in a few bath bombs, fascinated at the way Bucky's eyes could still shine when seeing something for the first time. It wasn't long before he was submerged, with only his head appearing above the lavender-scented bubbles.

A quiet voice stopped him before he could leave. “Will you stay? I can’t – my hair,” Bucky said, looking at his left hand.

It was quite clear what the problem was. Bucky’s long locks would inevitably get caught between the plates of his metal hand, which made washing his hair a challenge. He might have managed it if he tried hard enough, but it was the middle of the night.

Steve positioned a stool at the back of the tub, right behind Bucky's head. Gently massaging the shampoo onto his scalp, Steve wondered how much his friend remembered about his time in the house. Did he remember cleaning the blood off his face when he came home from one his fights, his harsh voice a contrast to the soft hands tending to his wounds. A sigh escaped from Bucky’s lightly-parted lips. How much did he remember? For him to trust Steve like this?

“You can tell a lot about people from the way they wash you,” Bucky informed him, as if listening in to his thoughts. “I’ve been washed - coming out of cryo, going back in. Warm bath and a gentle touch? Information retrieval. Thorough cleansing and grooming of facial hair? Covert mission. Dunked in cold water? Scrubbed with a floorbrush? Mission gone wrong. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I could break away. Still, I liked to know. I liked to be washed.”

It was the Winter Soldier speaking. He’d been all alone, so starved for touch that he craved any form of it.

“Is this a test?” Steve asked, his heart sinking at the idea of being compared to a handler.

Bucky let out a long sigh. "What for? I know you, Steve. You’re probably the only person I do.”

“Then stay?” Steve asked, throwing him a towel. “It’ll be like when we were kids. It’ll be fun."

“All I gotta do is shine your shoes, maybe take out the trash?”

Steve tossed him a set of fresh clothes. “Something like that." 

***

There were guest rooms, guest beds, but it felt wrong asking Bucky to spend the night in any of those. Bucky wasn’t a guest. This had been his home too. So, Bucky followed him to their bedroom, the one they'd always shared. Steve flopped onto the bed, scooting to one side to make room. 

“You sure?” Bucky asked, giving him his last chance to back out.

“Yeah," he said. "Always slept better with you around.”

Bucky sighed, making himself comfortable. “Haven’t slept in a bed for a while,” he said. “And this is perfect. Not too soft, like the new ones.”

“Yeah. Sam had it custom made.”

"Sam?" he asked. 

"Falcon. You've met."

Bucky swallowed, guilt clouding his face. "I'm sorry - about his wings," he said. 

Steve took hold of his flesh hand and squeezed. "Bucky, what you did. It wasn't you. You didn't have a choice," he said.

"I know," he said, sadly. "But I did it."

His expression changed when he noticed the bedside library, and he sat up quickly to admire it - a collection of books specially curated for him by Bruce. Bucky ran his fingers lovingly across the spines. “I used to read to you,” he said. “Couldn’t afford books though. I read the papers. And you put them in your shoes,” he snickered, clearly tickled by the memory.

Steve joined in, thrilled that of all the people who still remembered that version of himself, it was Bucky. And it struck Steve then, how he was Bucky’s only link to the past. If he wasn’t around to corroborate a memory, it might as well never have happened.

They lay in bed, silent, taking stock of what they’d lost and won, and then he felt it. Steve didn't even have to turn his head or ask. Bucky was trying to keep as still as possible, not make a sound. But Steve could hear it, even when they'd been continents apart. His heart was howling, missing the family he never got to say goodbye to, mourning the life he never had. Steve shifted his body to wrap his arms around Bucky's shoulders, pressing his chest as close as possible to his back. It took some time. But the tremors finally subsided and Bucky’s body became still, albeit for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Bucky would never be the same person he waved goodbye to at the docks seventy years ago, but returning to the house was the first step to piecing himself together. When he was done, he would be unbreakable. Till then, Steve would hold him tightly, keep the nightmares away. It was only fair. How many times had Bucky been in his place, not daring to fall asleep in his fear that Steve would stop breathing and slip away in the night?

It had been wonderful moving back with these modern conveniences and creature comforts, courtesy of his new friends, but it was only with Bucky in his arms, that home was home, once more.

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” he whispered into the silent night.

***

**(5) Brooklyn Heights, New York. 2016**

They had never had much, not even at Christmas. But Steve had never been hungry, not with Bucky always giving him the larger share of food. And even when they had nothing, the way his friend looked out for him always kept his heart full and belly warm. 

Instead of the traditional fare they grew up on, Bucky had prepared a feast of international cuisine. Steve was familiar with the _shepherd’s pie_ in the serving dish and the large jug of _sangria_ in the middle of the table, but the rest? He struggled to even pronounce their names.

"How do you know how to make all this?” Steve asked, his mouth full of _brochette_. 

Bucky, spooning more _gheimeh_ on their plates, mumbled, “Might have swiped a recipe or two. From when I was there.”

“You were there? At these places?” he asked, evidently surprised.

“Yeah. So were you,” Bucky reminded him, and Steve, chewing thoughtfully on _kartoffel kloesse,_ began to remember, and make the connections. He'd been to all of those places, as he chased Bucky all over the world.

“Remember to leave room for the _sachercake_ , because you know, we were in Austria too. And if you're feeling peckish, I could make us a _fondue_.”

Steve choked on his _pelmeni_.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking the proffered glass from Bucky's hands. And because Bucky was looking at him expectantly, he had to relive his disastrous _faux pas_ from a lifetime ago.

“Ever wish we could go back?” Bucky asked, clutching his tummy from laughing too hard at Steve's recount. 

“No," Steve said. "The world has changed. And I’ve been told, the best thing we can do is to start over. Besides, I’ve got my second chance right here.”

Bucky smiled at him, one of those lopsided grins that were slowly making a reappearance. “The 21st century isn’t so bad. Food’s better. We used to boil everything.”

"You know? I've always wanted to take a break, travel and see the world," Steve said.

“Yeah. About that,” Bucky began, nervously cracking the knuckles on his flesh hand. “Sam said I’m doing better.”

He was. Bucky had turned himself in for medical checkups, psychiatric evaluations and even courtroom hearings. Bucky would always hold himself accountable for his deeds. But, officially, he was pardoned for his part in HYDRA’s crimes.

“So, I was thinking. It’s probably a good time for me to go, give you your life back.”

It was the last thing he was expecting Bucky to say. "What? Why?" he asked, feeling surprisingly empty despite the feast. 

"I'm ready to move on. I remember a lot, haven't had a nightmare in a while. I think- I can probably get by on my own." 

“The thing is - You don't - I'm -," he broke off, recognising the determined look in his eyes. He'd already made up his mind. 

He wanted Bucky to stay, stay with him in the house they owned, because it was every bit as much Bucky’s as it was his. But now that Bucky had got his memories back, why did he have to? And who was he to keep him there? 

"When?” he asked, the word rolling out of his mouth before he could take it back. 

"Tomorrow morning, maybe?" Bucky said, smile plastered on his face. Yet, Steve could have sworn some of the light faded from his eyes. 

***

“Don’t do anything stupid till I come back,” Bucky told him the next morning.

It took everything for Steve to quell the emotions rising to the surface. Because the last time Bucky said those words, he almost never saw him again.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” he called out.

Bucky turned, and for an instant, Steve wondered if he’d changed his mind, and decided to stay. “Oops! Forgot something," he said, putting his arms around Steve. "Merry Christmas, punk,” he whispered before he left.

“Merry Christmas, jerk,” was all he managed to say. 

And that was how he watched the man he'd been waiting for, walk out the front door and out of his life.

***

**(+1) Floreasca, Bucharest, 2017**

Repelling down the wall of the old building, Steve wondered if villains had holidays, because it was Christmas, and they were supposed to be celebrating. Even during the war, opposing sides would call a truce on Christmas just so the troops could celebrate.

Steve only had himself to blame. He had volunteered to go on that Christmas mission, every mission, in the wake of Bucky’s departure. Because being rained on by bullets was better than being bombarded by reminders of Bucky, the knowledge that he wasn't there.

Christmas also meant the team were shorthanded. They were a team of three on a mission for six, so he, Nat and Sam had to work doubly hard in half the required time for their plan to work.

It was not a great plan.

Hours into the mission and they were no closer to the target, with HYDRA doubling their numbers for each head they cut off. Soon, they were trapped in a tight circle with their enemies closing in.

Steve regretted not visiting Bucky. It was the closest to each other that they'd been in months, according to his last postcard. It would have been so easy to stop by his apartment. It would have been worth it just to see his face and hear his voice, one last time.

Steve tossed a flare, creating a diversion so Sam could take off with Nat. That left him face to face with a vengeful Rumlow and what had to be the rest of HYDRA. They weren’t stopping. And neither was he. Each person he took down meant one less person who could hurt Bucky again. So, he went on and on and on.

“I can do this all day,” he gasped at Rumlow, despite losing his shield, his team and a fair amount of blood. It was a lie. He was becoming fatigued by the second, so he closed his eyes in preparation of the final blow that never came.

_Bam!_

Blue eyes flew open to see Rumlow on the ground, motionless. This was followed by bodies falling.

“Who’s doing that?” Sam shouted, as he hurried over to his right.

“Who cares?” Nat said. “But thank you,” she shouted into the freezing night.

Steve laughed as his shield whizzed back through the chaos and into his hands, because there was only one person he knew who took ten tries to ring a bottle, but never missed a shot when it came to him.

They won.

***

By the time he got to the apartment, Bucky was already waiting, furiously pacing the perimeter of the living room, trying his best to calm down.

“Sometimes, I think you like getting punched,” he said.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve insisted and felt his back slamming into the nearest wall. 

“Rumlow was this close to blowing your brains out," Bucky shouted, his face so close he could feel his warm breath. "Did you honestly think that you, Sam and Nat could take on all of HYDRA? How am I supposed to leave you alone when you still haven’t gained an ounce of self-preservation?”

“Then, don’t. You’re right, Buck. I haven’t learnt a thing. I never had to. You know why? Because I had the best team, I had the best partner, who covered me, never once failed to watch my six. I need you. I've never stopped needing you. And if you really cared, you wouldn’t have left. If you cared-," he choked. "You would have stayed.” 

He was waiting for a response, an angry retort, a shelling even, but there wasn't one. Bucky had stopped listening. His eyes were fixed on his neckline. More specifically, they were looking at the pendant that had slipped out of his torn uniform.

_Shit!_

Rough hands were around it and Steve could only watch as Bucky opened it. It felt like an eternity before Bucky looked away from it and back at him again.

“You know, Steve said, trying to keep his voice casual. “This is probably the only thing I have from back then.”

Bucky sighed, giving him a long look. “It's. Not. The only thing,” he finally gritted out, through his clenched jaw.

For a couple of minutes, Steve watched as Bucky paced around his apartment, as if considering his options. Finally, he got on his knees, raised his metal arm and punched the floorboard right beside where Steve had been standing. He reached into the cavity and extracted what looked like a stack of notebooks. From the same secret compartment, he also took out a small object and placed it into Steve’s open hands.

Steve took in a quick breath when he saw the compass. “How?" he asked, looking at Bucky in confusion. "It was you - Why would you? I know you never used it,” he said.

“I never needed it,” Bucky explained. “I’ve never needed a compass to find you, Steve.”

“I thought you hated it,” Steve said.

“How could I hate it?” Bucky asked, frowning. “It was yours. I had to keep it safe. You're right. I was at the Smithsonian that day,” Bucky continued. “Do you – Do you want it back?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s yours,” he said, placing it back in Bucky’s hands. “Does it still work though? I could never get it to open.”

Bucky flashed him a grin, pushing on the cover, before tapping on the bottom to pop it open. “What? I didn’t want just anyone opening it,” he explained.

Looking down, Steve understood why Bucky had needed the compass to stay closed. Because fixed to the inside cover of the compass was a trimmed photograph – his.

It was only then that he understood. Just as he’d hidden his love for Bucky in a broken timepiece, Bucky had locked away his feelings in the compass. But while Steve took his love with him wherever he went, Bucky always kept it in the safest places he knew.

"Bucky," he started, but Bucky didn't seem to have heard. He had a faraway look in his eyes, like he sometimes did when getting one of his precious memories back.

“Steve, back then, were we - were we more than friends?” he asked.

Steve gulped. “It was the forties, Buck. Two guys like us. There was no way we could have been happy.”

“That’s not what I remember,” he insisted, pinning him in place with his piercing blue eyes.

"What do you remember?" 

"There was a kiss." 

"Yeah." 

There was a kiss.

_It was hard and painful and wet with the salt of their combined tears, because Bucky was leaving for England, and he asked to kiss Steve, just once, just so he would have something to remember him by. His soft mouth was on his half-parted lips and his arms were around his neck, pulling him closer. Steve had clung on tightly, knotting his hands in his hair, trying to tell him with the press of his mouth all the words he could never say._

“Can I?” Bucky asked, sounding just as desperate and unsure as he'd been the first time. 

Steve looked at his waiting mouth and breathed. For the first time in his life, felt just as brave as the person Bucky always said he was. He took the final step, closing the distance between them. Before he knew it, his lips were on Bucky's. Or Bucky's on his. He couldn't tell. And it didn't matter.

It was so warm that it melted all the years, the months, the days, the hours, the minutes, down into a single moment.

Considering how long they'd waited, the kiss was, by all means, short. But it was fine. Because they had time. They had all the time in the world. 

***

**(+∞) Brooklyn Heights, New York, 2018**

Cuddling the ridiculously large stuffed bear in the comfort of their big bed, Steve wondered if he was in love with the biggest fool of the century, who’d once again squandered his cash at the ring toss booth.

If not for the fact that his hands had been busy juggling s'mores churros, mozzarella sticks and some hot chocolate in a gingerbread cup, he would have dragged his boyfriend away.

“It’s tradition,” Bucky had insisted, just like that foolish young man from a lifetime ago.

He’d become better at it, at least, because it only took a few tries before the bear was seated firmly on Steve's shoulders, so they could take a picture for the Instagram. 

Steve tried to act nonchalant, but the bear was really soft, and he couldn't seem to stop touching its fluffy fur. He even considered cuddling it that night, not that he really needed to. He was sleeping much better these days, with Bucky's warm body taking up the empty space in his bed. 

“Glad you like him," Bucky said as he ran his hand over the bear's fur and moved him aside. "I might have something else for you.”

It made Steve groan. “Please!" he begged. "Not another freebie from the ring toss booth.”

"What?” Bucky said, looking mildly offended. “I spent good money on this." 

"How much?" Steve asked, already afraid.

"An arm and a leg. Maybe just the arm. Well, a bit of it," he said, while he laughed at Steve’s horrified expression. 

"All right. I'm kidding. We had some left over, after Tony made the new one for me." 

“What are you talking about?" Steve asked, bewildered by the conversation. 

"You know, Steve?” Bucky said. “The last couple of years, I struggled. I’ve often asked myself why. Why me? Why us? Why are we even still alive? It was a question I never stopped asking. Until I saw that rotten timepiece around your neck, a reminder that time stopped, stood still, to give us a second go. And the forties were a beautiful time, there's so much I miss. But today, we don't have to hide anymore.”

“Yeah,” he said, agreeing to everything Bucky said.

Then, Bucky rolled off the bed and got down on one knee. He was holding a box, with a ring inside - shiny and new, the brightest thing in the room, apart from his eyes. 

"This - this is made from the same stuff as your new arm?" he gasped. 

"Vibranium," Bucky said proudly. "Rarest metal on Earth. And with it, I'm going to ask for your hand. Steven Grant Rogers, this right here - this might be the last ring I ever toss, damn the inflation and all, and I’d like - I'd really like to put it around you. So, will you please say _yes -_ to marrying me?”

“Yes, you dumbass," he choked. "Of course, I'll marry you.” 

Steve had never quite known how it felt like to be swept off his feet. He was either too weak for this sort of exertion or too heavy to be lifted off the ground. But somehow, Bucky managed, and Steve was soaring to dizzying heights. 

“Fixed the watch by the way,” Steve said after Bucky finally put him down on their bed, climbing in beside him. The watch around his neck was reading midnight, meaning it was time for bed.

“Never thought anyone could ever fix that old thing,” Bucky said, as he pulled the covers over them. “But now, it looks like we have time.”

They did. They had all the time in the world to be lost in the moment, in each other’s arms.

“You all right there?” Steve asked, when he noticed Bucky closing his eyes.

Bucky pulled him closer and pressed his warm mouth to his ear. “I’m home,” he said. 

"Love you, Bucky." 

"Love you, Steve." 

With that, Steve turned off the bedside lamp, and they closed their eyes, drifted off together into a deep, restful slumber. All their lives, they'd taken turns to follow each other to the farthest reaches of the globe.

But finally, they were home.


	2. Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanart done by the lovely Himetokki!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to:  
> \- AvengersNewB for cheering me on and being the best sounding board.  
> \- Serinah for beta reading.  
> \- Thenevemore for the fact-checking and fact-finding and all the helpful suggestions.  
> \- Huntress79, TanakaYuuko, Nanocali, Shani and everyone else who gave me ideas on the international cuisine! 
> 
>   
> This story was inspired by:  
> ”The Taming" by bluesimplicity  
> ”a little ugly never hurt nobody" by Padraigen
> 
> To Lyricayed, I hope I didn't include anything from your DNW list. There were some quotes from CACW but they were in a very, very different context, so I hope it was okay. Have a wonderful Christmas and a lovely New Year! 
> 
> To everyone else, thank you so much for reading! I’m always looking for feedback to improve my writing, so if you have any ideas or suggestions, please let me know! 
> 
> Merry Christmas and all the best to you in 2020! Thank you so much for reading! :D


End file.
